


What lurks in the dark

by Wrathofscribbles



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 21:24:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20495564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrathofscribbles/pseuds/Wrathofscribbles
Summary: You don't need to wait for sunset to encounter what goes bump in the night - just pop into the nearest cave at the behest of the Astrals and pray they save your bacon.





	What lurks in the dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MysteriousBean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysteriousBean/gifts).

> **Big bold reminder that Final Fantasy XV and all of its content is property of Square Enix.** I just like to play in the sandpit they've created for the fans.
> 
> Inspired once more by some [wonderful art.](https://mysteriousbean5.tumblr.com/post/187337656731/poor-prom-got-himself-in-a-mess-again-good-thing)

On the plus side they’re in a cave and out of the rain. The absolutely torrential, pissing buckets storm Ramuh was oh-so-kind to literally drop on their heads. They’re not really warm, but they’re not freezing their asses off, either.

On the shitty side, _they’re in a cave_. Out of sunlight, smack in the middle of daemon town and being jumped by them is nowhere near as pleasant as, say, being taken down by Prompto.

“I mean, really, would it kill the old man to roll out the welcome mat and clean house for us?”

“The gods test us, Prompto. We shouldn’t expect favours from them.”

“No, that _storm _is a test. This? Crawling in tight spaces and running headfirst into a personal introduction with vore? Overkill, Iggy, and I for one would like a refund of this hell subscription.”

“What in the world is v-”

“This way,” Noctis says, effectively silencing them, skin prickling as the magic stirs in his blood, almost _buzzing_, reacting to Ramuh’s call. They’re _close_, his feet as sure in their path in the middle of nowhere as they had been in the Citadel. Not much further and then they can scurry out of the earth’s bowels and toss a firebomb back at the poison infesting it.

And then _something_ detaches itself from the ceiling and steals Prompto right from his side, faster than he can react, fingers closing on empty air and ice spikes courtesy of Ignis impaling only stone.

“What the fuck was _that?”  
_

_“Prompto!”  
_

A scream is his only answer and it’s not so easy to turn his back on the progress they’ve made, that low-level buzz in his bones shifting to pins and needles first, then lances of lightning rattling around his limbs. He is but a puppet on dancing strings and only Ignis and Gladio hooking their arms through his allows him to soldier on.

_You will answer my summons, King of Kings._

_My friends come first, Fulgurian!_

* * *

It’s a _snake_. A goddamn massive snake, Prompto trapped in the shadowed loop of its coils, hissing when Noctis throws a fireball at its body. It rears up with a scream of fury, twisting round to glare at him with baleful yellow eyes and there’s a _face_ on its head. A woman’s face, twisted and deformed by the ravages of Scourge, mouth stretched wide and needle-sharp teeth glinting in the light cast by the flames scorching along the maze made by her scales.

“RUN!” Prompto yells as she uncoils and _strikes_ faster than Noctis can react, faster than he can bloody _blink_, but Gladio’s there to shove him aside and jam the entire bulk of his shield between her jaws. Ignis is there with another spray of ice spikes, decorating her head like a pincushion. They’re _both _there to distract the snake daemon as Noctis scrabbles under the sweep of her tail and makes a beeline for Prompto where he’s been thrown in the daemon’s thrashing, trapped in the midst of flan attempting to smother him. He’s inexperienced in handling Noctis’s magic but it’s there anyway, sparking along the fingers he sinks into gelatinous forms in an effort to rip them from his face, flaring wild and bright when Noctis throws himself into the fray, battle strategy _gone_ in favour of hacking and slashing.

“Why did it have to be a snake? I used to love snakes. My biology teacher had a boa in class every day.”

_“Less talking and more killing, Prompto.”_

* * *

Prompto is damp and disgusting, truly, gravity-defying spikes noticeably _drooping _under all the daemon gunk caked on him. But he’s warm and alive, right in his arms, holding on as tight as Noctis does, almost enough to compromise his breathing. Chin on his shoulder, digging in, not quite comfortable and yet it keeps him grounded, keeps him _sane_, reminds him where Prompto is. Campsite, safety, storm clouds bloated and grumbling overhead, lightning sparking in time to the rise and fall of his residual temper.

Even breathing at his ear, stirring his hair, a far cry from the panicked wheezing when he’d hauled Prompto up and over the edge, away from grasping claws and snapping teeth and dozens of Scourge-bright eyes. Prompto’s not speaking but he doesn’t have a chance to, anyway, Noct’s mouth running a mile a minute as he sweeps his hands all over, feeling for wounds and bruises and burns, tending to every one with spell and potion alike. Maybe he _can’t _speak, maybe he ruined his voice with all the screaming.

It’s a sound Noctis never wants to hear again. It’s a sound he’ll never forget.

“You’re alright,” he says, “you’re safe, I’ve got you.” Over and over, like he can chase away the memory of Prompto’s terror, as if words alone can shield them from the horrors hiding in the dark. A mantra to calm his own heartbeat, still hectic and rabbit-fast against his ribs, anxious and itching for a fight, skin crawling as Ramuh’s favour etches into his _bones_, echoes in thunder. So much _power_ he might burst with it, a siren song for vengeance, and despite the trembles still working through Prompto he finds his eyes drawn in the general direction of the cave, feels his mouth pulling into something of a snarl, _hears_ the wind whistle and howl around them.

_Kill them_, that power purrs, _kill them all._

And oh how Noctis longs to _obey_.

It’s Ignis who snaps him out of it, obscuring his vision with the clothes dumped on his head. Prompto pulls back with a wobbly laugh, but he doesn’t break contact, not fully, hand sliding the length of Noct’s arm and closing around his fingers. A gentle squeeze, silent reassurance. _I’m here, I’m safe, I’m okay_.

“Get changed before you catch your death of a cold, both of you. We have food to eat and a vehicle to reclaim, time is too precious to waste.”

“Hey, Noct?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t let Ignis name anymore daemons.”

“... Why?”

“He named those things flan, Noct. _Flan_. He’s ruined dessert for me.”

“Oh. Uh. That was... that was me.”

_“What?!”_

“It was the first thing that came to mind!”

“You couldn’t have thought of slime or jelly first? It _had _to be flan? My favourite dessert, you shit!”

He knows better than to kiss Prompto’s pout, he _knows_, but he wants to anyway. Judging by the gagging noises from Gladio, it’s written all over his face, too.

But they’re okay, all of them, and that’s the important thing. His magic recedes, curls round the length of his spine and settles there, and takes the sensation of _burning_ with it. 


End file.
